Better than dreams
by NatureSauvage
Summary: It's just a dream. Surely it's just a dream. Is it?
1. Chapter 1

**Better than dreams – Part 1**

_Perhaps life is just that... a dream and a fear. - Joseph Conrad_

Even before he was fully awake, Draco felt the calmness surrounding him. Never in his life had he felt so at ease with the world. Which was odd because he had no reason to feel this way. His life was a disaster, but in this blissful calmness nothing matter.

He opened his eyes and stretched. He wasn't in his room at Malfoy manor nor at Hogwart. In fact he had no idea were he was, but this place was... soothing.

The bedroom wasn't large, in fact it was probably the smallest Draco had ever seen, but the ceiling was high and two full length, narrow windows gave the room an airy feeling. The walls were soft blue, as was the duvet on the bed. There where a few other things in the same shade of blue: a pillow, a bowl on top of the commode. Everything else was pure white; the ceiling, the doors, the sheets on the bed, the only chest of drawers in the corner, the large bed. There were white curtains hanging on the windows, softening the outdoor light and giving a kind of surreal atmosphere to the room. There wasn't a trace of lace, frill, flowers, or any of those silly things Pansy favoured so much, and everything had clean straight lines, giving the room a feeling of masculinity despite the soft colour. The air felt fresh, clean and smelled faintly of salt and musk.

And there was the calmness.

The house was silent, but not the tense silence of the silencing charm he used to put on his bedroom at home to block his father cries and his mother screams, when he could still feel the rage and tension reaching through the ward. There were birds singing outside, he could faintly hear sea birds from a distance and a soft regular sound. Draco slowly got up and went the the window. He was only wearing white boxers but here, in this calmness, it felt perfectly normal, black silk pyjama would have been an insult to to the clean whiteness of this place.

Draco opened the curtains and saw water, only water, as far as the eye could see.

He wondered if the house was floating. But no, the room was on the second floor and he could see that it was build on a small rocky land, as close to the ocean as the builder had dare. Draco spent a long time looking at the reflections of the sun on the waves. It was calm and soothing. And fresh, so fresh. The dungeons always smelled musty and felt like... like a prison. No windows, no air, no sun. Of course it was unthinkable for a Slytherin not to like the dungeons, the perfect place for mysteries and conspiracies, but Draco secretly hated it. Here in this room, surrounded by the sea and the sun, he, finally, felt free.

He looked at the ocean for a long, long time, savouring the feelings of freedom and serenity.

Eventually, Draco began to feel cold, the sea wind was chilling the room and he was tired, which was odd since there was surely no more than a few minutes that he was up. But looking up, he saw that the sun, which had been high in the sky when he woke, had set and that it was now the moonlight that reflected on the waves.

He yawned and climb back in the bed. He sighed contently at the feeling of the soft cotton sheets on his naked skin. He liked his silk sheets, but these ones felt more airy, less constricting. And his silk sheets came with obligations and so much stress. He much prefer these. He slowly felt asleep. Much later, through his heavy sleep, Draco had a faint consciousness of a warm body pressing against his back and a feeling of profound rightness. This was were he belong, in this house by the sea, in those arms.

DMDMDMDMDMDMDMDM

When the sound of a slamming door awoke him, Draco sat up suddenly in his bed. With silk sheets and green curtains. He could hear the snores coming from Greg's bed and smell the stale, dank odour that seemed to always be present in the dungeons. Pansy was screaming at Blaise, again, in the common room.

A dream. It had been only a dream.

The wonderful bedroom and the sea. The calmness. The hug. All a dream. Draco felt like crying. He punched his pillow instead. Dark green and black and fear, where he wanted white and soft blue and freedom.

Who was he to merit those thing anyway? An unwilling death eater, not faithful to his own side of the battle, too scared to switch to the other side. He was lost in a hostile world without friends, with no money and no family. Lucius was still alive but he was locked away in Azkaban, hopefully the bastard would die there.

He refused to call the man "Father". What kind of "Father" handed his only son at the mercy of a giant and horrible snake? What kind of "Father" fell pride at having his son received murder orders? What kind of "Father" did _that_ to his own wife? His mother, his poor little mother... She was the only human being that had actually cared for him, not his reputation or his last name, but for him.

And Lucius had killed her.

Draco felt the tears threatening to fall. He took a deep breath, mentally grabbed all his emotions and lock them in a corner of mind. He got up and went to the showers with the same mask of cold determination he had wore everyday, for as long as he could remember.

He may have nothing left, but he would keep his pride.

...

_As I mostly speak/write in french, I hope you will forgive all those awful errors I surely made._


	2. Chapter 2

_My dreams were all my own; I accounted for them to nobody; they were my refuge when annoyed - my dearest pleasure when free. - Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley_

Draco awoke again in the soft cotton sheets, to a calmness he couldn't explain. Even knowing it was a dream didn't made the room less peaceful. It was raining this time and the room had lost its brightness.

Instead of the pure white they were when glistering in the sun, the walls looked a very pale grey. The blue look greyer too. The sound of the rain on the roof blocked all other noises and the soft light made the room even more relaxing. The room smelled of wet earth and that unique, clean odor you can only smell by the sea. He got up from the bed and couldn't help but shivering. It was colder too. He was again wearing only the white boxers. He opened one door and found a closet.

The closet hold fewer clothes than he thought anyone could live with, but at the same time he felt like this was just the right amount for this house. There was no need for fancy clothes here. The frugality of the house was part of it's charm. It was small but airy, cozy but uncluttered.

There were clothes of nearly every colors, most were light shades of blue, green and grey, but none were black or even dark. There were no wizard robes either. He put on a light green sweater and a pair of grey trousers. The clothes were his size, but he saw that about a half of the clothes were a bit smaller. So he was living with another person. A man.

Draco started at the faint memory of a warm body against him, strong arms. He was dreaming of living, sleeping, with another man. It should have shocked him more than it did. He should have felt disgusted, repulsed or, at the very least, disturbed. But at the thought of the hard planes of a male body pressed against his own, here in this dream world at least, Draco felt only calm acceptation and longing. He wanted to hold that warm body that had settled beside him.

Draco carefully closed the closet door; being in a dream was no excuse for letting things out of their proper place. He thought about going to the window to look at the sea again. The incessant slow movement of the water had fascinated him, but he was curious about what he would find in the rest of the house.

There were two others doors beside the closet. The first one was opened and led to a staircase, Draco guessed that the other one would led to a bathroom. He opened the closed door and, indeed, found himself in a bathroom. He had visualized a medium size room, like the bedroom. Strangely it wasn't what he had imagined it to be. It was so, so much better. It reminded him of a smaller version of the prefects' bathroom.

Compared the size of the bedroom, the bathroom was huge. The walls were tiled with a mosaic in light shades of grey and creamy white with a few accent of dark blue. It was a ratter abstract design, but if he tilted his head just so, Draco could imagine that it represent a solitary house, build on a small island, in a violent storm. On an other wall a spot of lighter tiles gave the impression of the sun slowly piercing the clouds. It was really a beautiful piece of work and while the subject and the palette should have been depressing, the artist had manage to convey a feeling of hope and serenity to the scene.

Directly in front of the door Draco could see a vast glass shower. The back wall of the shower was a nearly full wall window. That stuck him as very unusual... and naughty. There was a small bench on one wall and the shelves in the corner held a vast variety of shampoo, body wash, scented soap and even massage oil. Most of those toiletry, Draco recognized as his own choices, but a few were unknown to him. He opened a mysterious shampoo bottle and smelled its content. It was a very subtle aroma. Something tropical and sweet, without being girly. Like citrus and something else... Rosemary maybe? It was…familiar and he found that he quite liked it. It made something in his chest catch and his heart rate speed up.

On Draco's left, there was a huge bath in one corner, deep enough to allow him to swim. One side had a full length bench, about two feet under the level of the water. Draco felt himself hardening at the thought of all the things he and his mysterious roommate could use that bench for.

This bathroom seemed to have been purposely designed to allowed, encourage even, sex.

Draco felt himself strangely attracted by the shower. The idea of being naked, in front of a window, even one that view on the ocean, appealed to his exhibitionist side. Oh well, after all it was _his_ dream, so what if he decided to take a shower? Draco shed the clothes he had just recently put on and step into the shower. The water magically started to flow as soon as he step in. It was too hot, just as he liked his showers.

He hissed at the feeling of the scalding water, but soon his skin adapted to the heat. Draco tilted his head back and let the water wet his blond locks. On an impulse he didn't took time to analyzed, he grabbed the bottle of shampoo he had smelled earlier and put some in his hair. The curiously familiar scent filled the air in the steamy shower. Draco could barely see through the glass door from all the steam, but the window stayed clear, probably charmed to stay that way. This was really his dream shower. Eventually he sat on the small bench and let the the hot water relaxed his muscles. Trowing his head back, he let it rest on the wall. He closed his eyes, suddenly exhausted.

DMDMDMDMDMDMDMDMDMDM

Draco was showering, again, but this time in a cramped and windowless shower. He closed his eyes and try to imagine himself in the wonderful shower of his strange dream, but try as he may he couldn't bring back that feeling of peacefulness.

That day Draco found himself examining speculatively the boys he knew, trying to identify who his unconscious mind was pairing him with. He was sitting in Potion, waiting for the class to start, when someone entered the room. Someone who was smelling like a strangely familiar shampoo.

_Oh, fuck._

He lifted his head and their eyes met. The green eyes widened comically and instead of the look of anger Draco usually found in those eyes, he found dread. Harry Potter was scared of him? How odd.

...

_Again I would like to apologize for the errors caused by my lack of knowledge in English. And my general bad grammar. Sometimes I wonder why I write stories in English, but somehow, for me Harry Potter's characters can only speak English._

_I'm still on the fence about publishing that story. I like it but... There is always the ''but''. I feel like I didn't work enough on it. Or too much. _

_Hope you like it. If not, well... too bad I guess. _


	3. Chapter 3

"_Sometimes you wake up from a dream. Sometimes you wake up in a dream. And sometimes, every once in a while, you wake up in someone else's dream. " - Richelle Mead_

It was the absolute silence that finally stirred Harry from his light doze in front of the fire. He was surprised that Hermione or Ron had not woke him. He opened his eyes debating whether he should climb all those stair to go to bed or if he could stay there. He was comfortable and warm.

He was surprised to find that he was no longer in the Gryffindor common room, in fact he had no idea were he was. He should have felt fear, or at the very least curiosity, but this place felt like... like home. Like _his_ home. This was not something that Harry had ever felt. Of course, he liked the Burrow, but while it was the closest thing to a home Harry had ever seen, it was still someone else's home.

If this was a spell or a trap, well Harry didn't care, because he had never felt so at peace with the world.

He got up and stretched the kinks from his back, looking at the unknown yet familiar room. It wasn't unlike the Gryffindor common room, but it wasn't red, nor was it round. It was a smallish, square room, with high ceilings. There was a stone fireplace with a roaring fire on the north wall and a royal-blue double-seated couch in front of the fireplace, where Harry had awoken. He could see a pair of matching leather armchairs in the opposite corner and small bookcases and tables, covered with books, scattered thought the room. The south and west walls held large windows framed with blue velvet curtains.

Harry felt drawn by the panorama and slowly walked across the room to sit in the leather chair that faced the window. The only thing he could see was water. He felt a strange desire to laugh when he remember that he used to think that the lake at Hogwart was huge. He spend a long time looking at the play of the sunlight on the waves, completely mesmerized. Eventually the warmth of the fireplace and the calmness of the place lulled him back to sleep. He woke up to find that the sun had set and that it was now the moonlight that reflected on the waves.

He heard a soft noise on the second floor of the house. Tiredly he got up and climb the stair. He found the door to the bedroom open. Someone was already lying in the bed. He couldn't see who it was, only a mess of hair was visible, glowing silver in the moonlight, but he suddenly felt a irresistible desire to go sleep in that bed, with that unknown person. He lifted the the blankets and cuddled the warm body sleeping under them. The hard planes of the abdomen, the width of the shoulders and lack of breast was pretty telling : this person was male. Harry found that not only he wasn't grossed out by this revelation, he was, maybe, just a bit turned on.

_Well, that explained why I am so uninterested in Ginny._

Harry sighed happily and fell asleep again.

PHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

"Harry, mate, wake up. You fell asleep in front of the fire again. You don't want Hermione to find you. She'll rant for a week. Again."

"M'up" groaned Harry. He should be glad Ron had woke him, because it was true that Hermione would be quite cross if she found him sleeping in a chair again. She had an unhealthy interest in his sleeping habit. She had an unhealthy interest in all he did, now that he thought about it.

But Harry didn't wanted to wake up. He didn't want to face the truth that he was alone in the world. Sure he had his friends, but he couldn't imagine cuddling Hermione or Ron, like he had done to this boy in his, oh so sweet, dream. And he wanted someone with whom to cuddle, to kiss and so much more. To eat breakfast with, in a small cozy kitchen with a view on the sea, and go flying, just for fun.

He had always imagined his future to hold a big house with a white picket fence and a wife and a dozen children, because it was what everyone he knew expected of him. But Harry began to wonder if he couldn't find a small island and build a small house. A house with a lot of silence, somewhere calm and peaceful.

As an experiment, Harry imagined himself, ten years from now, in a big house with half a dozen rambunctious children and married to Ginny. Red hair and chaos everywhere. Ginny yelling "Get out of the kitchen!" and "Don't tease your brother!" as Mrs Wesley does. Hermione and Ron visiting with their own children and more noise and more madness.

The war had been hot with hatred, heavy with fear, blood-red, dirty, noisy and mad. Harry realized that he was craving the soothing blue coldness of his dream-house. The light and the air, fresh and new, the cleanness, the order... Just closing his eyes and visualizing the place calmed him.

Maybe he didn't wanted to do what everybody expected of him.


	4. Chapter 4

_Dreaming or awake, we perceive only events that have meaning to us. - Jane Roberts_

Harry awoke to the delightful silence and peace he had dreamed about last night and sighed contently. How he had wished the dream would return! But he somehow doubt this was an ordinary dream, there was something more about it.

He opened his eyes and found himself in front of the fire, in the same couch he woke up last time. Had he fallen asleep again in the common room? He stretched and slowly got on his feet. He wondered if he would see the man from his dream today. He had imagined sleeping with a few of the boys he knew. He had be surprised to realize that he found some boys a lot more arousing than any girls he knew, but none of the boys he had imagined, had awaken that feeling of profound rightfulness he had felt in his dream.

He heard a soft pacing noise, someone was walking in the bedroom. Aiming to observe without being seen, for now, he discretely climbed the stairs. The bedroom door was still opened, but the room look empty. Puzzled, Harry slowly entered the room. He saw another opened door on his left. He silently approached it and looked inside.

Harry made a effort to conceal his gasp of surprise. It was a bathroom. Well it was huge bathroom. But his surprise was mainly caused by the young man. The naked young man.

The mysterious man stood in the bathroom amid a small pile of discarded clothes. His back was to Harry and he was in the process of removing a pair a white boxers. Offering a very advantageous view of his backside to Harry. The man let the boxers on the floor and walked toward the shower. He seemed to be a little taller than Harry and he had pale blond hair that had Harry itching to bury his hand in. His back was like a dream, slender and muscular, with narrow hips and wider shoulder. And his ass -his magnificent ass- was firm and round. He entered the glass shower and the water started to flow on his soft looking skin. Harry mouth suddenly felt extremely dry.

The man turned to put his back to the flowing water and Harry could see his face, trown back at the surely delightful feeling. And Harry recognized him.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

An extremely piercing shriek suddenly awoke Harry. His heart nearly jumped out of his chest at the surprised.

"Harry James Potter! How many times did I told you that if you feel tired you have to go up in your own bed! This posture is extremely bad for your back! And..."

Harry tuned her out. He had no interest in hearing that speech again. He nodded and climbed the stairs to the dormitories. He had a feeling that if he had remained in the common room a second longer he would have punched Hermione. Harry was furious.

He had been standing in this dream bathroom, looking at this delightful man. He had been seconds away to shed his clothing and join him in this shower. It was then that Harry remember who he had seen in that shower.

Harry didn't sleep that night. He tossed and turned in his bed, aroused and yet unwilling to accept the fact that he was lusting after Draco Malfoy, of all people. And yet, grey eyes hunted him. Not cold and calculating, as he knew them, but full of warmth, laughter and affection.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

The next day Harry spent a inordinate amount of time trying to avoid Malfoy. He didn't want to imagine the lean muscles under his, more than impeccable, robes nor how his silver hair would turn to gold when wet. Harry nearly managed to completely avoid him, except that his last class was potion.

Harry arrived a good 10 minutes early, hoping to arrive before Malfoy, who was nearly always late for this class. He had thought that he would hide himself in the back corner of the room and hope not to be noticed by anyone.

But Malfoy was already there.

Their gaze met and Harry blushed. He scurried to the corner opposite to the one Malfoy had chosen and tried to hide his embarrassment behind his potion manual. He couldn't help but wonder if Malfoy really look as good under his clothes as the man in his dream. He could still feel Malfoy's gaze on him. Harry risked a look in that direction. Malfoy was staring at him and there was something in his eyes... Something that make Harry wonder how it was possible that he could blush that much without passing out when most of his blood had rushed south.

Malfoy send him a amused glanced and Harry buried himself deeper in his textbook. It was then that he understood why Malfoy seemed so amused. Harry blushed even harder and turned his book upside up.

Malfoy laughed at that. A deep, rich laugh that make Harry looked up. He was astounded by the transformation that laugh had on Malfoy. He looked... carefree. His eyes were shinning and his genuinely amused expression made something catch in Harry's chest.

He was beautiful.

It didn't last more than a few seconds. Then there was a noise in the corridor. Malfoy suddenly stopped laughing and scolded at Harry, his hard and calculating expression back in place. As short as it was, the episode made something shift in Harry's world. Maybe there was something to those dreams.

...

_Thanks for the lovely reviews! _


	5. Chapter 5

_All human beings are also dream beings. Dreaming ties all mankind together. - Jack Kerouac_

That night Harry went to bed early because he definitely didn't intended to fall asleep in front of the fire again. Oddly enough, despite his arousal and the thousands of question drifting in his mind, he felt asleep nearly instantly, with a vivid memory of a laughing Malfoy on his mind.

DMDMDMDMDMDMDMDMDM

Draco opened his eyes and saw that he was back, in the small bedroom. He could feel the sun on his face and smell the saltiness of the ocean. For him it smelled like freedom and peace. He took a deep breath. And sneeze. His face was buried in citrus smelling dark hair.

That's when he noticed that someone was lying in bed with him, fast asleep, with his head on his shoulder and an arm threw over Draco's chest. He guessed he should have panicked or at least be surprised by it, but instead he happily sighed and tighten his grip on the sleeping man's waist.

Harry's waist.

It felt... like home.

Draco was deliciously warm and surprisingly happy as he drifted back to sleep.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry awoke feeling incredibly relaxed and happy. He tried to stretch his limbs but quickly discovered that one of his arm was stuck under something. Something warm and breathing. He opened his eyes and found himself lying on a chest. An pale, thin-yet-strong chest, covered by skin soft as velvet and hairs so delicate and pale that they were nearly invisible. He sighed and buried himself deeper in the neck of the man, getting a draft of a spicy fragrance.

Draco.

He was sleeping with Draco Malfoy.

And it felt like home.

Harry took a deep breath of the unique fragrance of the man and drifted back to sleep.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry awoke in his own bed, cold and alone. He deeply regretted his previous warm and firm pillow. But most of all he missed the love. The feeling of loving and being love back. He remember how Draco had tightened his embrace when he had stirred. How delicious it was to be wanted...

Harry sighed and went to the showers.

DMDMDMDMDMDMDMDMDM

Draco awoke in the Slytherin dungeon, shivering in his cold blankets. He could still nearly feel the warmth of the strong body pressed against him. But it had been a dream. And now he was cold and alone. Again. The thought was so depressive that it nearly brought Draco to tears. But Draco was proud, he was a Malfoy, a pure blood, a Slytherin. He wouldn't cry. He wouldn't break.

He. Would. Not.

Draco got out of his cold bed and walked calmly to the shower, to wash away whatever the wetness was on his cheeks. And later, when Blaise got to showers and found Draco sitting in a corner of the shower, performing a serious study in not-crying, he studiously looked the other way and pretended not to noticed.

Later, when he met Potter in the corridor between the Charm classroom and the Great Hall, he snarled in response to the other boy timid smile. Draco pretend not to be hurt by the pained look on Potter's face. It was only a dream, a fantasy of his sick mind. There was no way Harry -_Potter_- could want to be with him. Not that he wanted to! He was a Malfoy, he would marry a beautiful pure-blood witch and have one son who would carry on the Malfoy name. He pretended not to noticed the hollow feeling in his chest at that thought.

He was really getting quite good at this pretending thing.


	6. Chapter 6

_Dreams are the touchstones of our character. - Henry David Thoreau_

This time, when Harry opened his eyes in the little blue room, he was alone. The other side of the bed was already cold, so Draco had be gone for some time. He got up and quickly dressed. Noticing the pair of white boxer in the clothes hamper, Harry couldn't help but blush. Had Draco really remove his clothes here, while Harry was sleeping?

The underwear conjured all sort of wrong -but oh so delicious- images in Harry's mind. Memories of a young men taking a shower among others...

Harry shook the thoughts out of his head and went to look out the window. The immensity of the ocean seemed even more overwhelming from this height. He spotted Draco walking on the rocky shore, seemingly lost in his thought. The sunshine on his head made his hair look whiter than ever and the wind had mused his hair. Harry had never seen Malfoy looking so ...free. Not since he stopped playing Quidditch.

Suddenly, Harry wanted to fly. He hadn't been on a broom for months and he realized that he craved the wind in his hair, the sun on his face and this delicious sinking feeling when he make a sudden move...

Harry hurried downstairs. In the closet near the entrance, he found two brooms. Not top-of-the-line brooms, just good brooms. He grabbed one, hesitated, and took the second one before closing the door.

DMDMDMDMDMDMDMDMDM

Draco had woke up at least an hour earlier and had watched Harry slept for a few minutes. The git was strangely attractive when he wasn't busy being irritating... Draco had shook the thought away and quickly dressed before heading downstairs.

He had found a relatively vast living room with leather chairs and blue curtains. Then he entered a small kitchen. There was no dining room, only a small round table in front of a large window that could fit maybe four persons, if they sat elbows to elbow. He could nearly saw it. Harry and his friends, the Weasel and the Mu... Muggleborn, laughing and talking. And himself sitting beside Harry, looking bored and making sarcastic comments, glaring daggers at Weasley. But secretly enjoying himself, because Harry was happy and they were discretely holding hands under the table.

And it felt like ... home.

For the first time Draco wondered why he was so set in following the Pureblood traditions, because, really, what was the point of having a new generation of unhappy Pureblood children?

He shook the thought out of his mind as he opened the door and walked outside.

It was a windy day, the wind messed his hair and he remembered he hadn't combed it this morning. Not that it mattered much now. He slowly walked along the rocky shore and stumbled across a small garden. Looking at the various plants, he wondered how the harsh climate would influence the proprieties of certain plants. Maybe the saltiness would be beneficial for some potion. It would be an interesting project. Did the house had a cellar? It would be the perfect place for a potion lab.

Suddenly he heard his name and turned around, just in time to catch the broomstick Harry had thrown at him. The other young men grinned when he saw that Draco had caught it, but Draco was too shocked to move for a moment. Because Harry had say his name, his given name. Not Malfoy, but Draco, and if that wasn't earth shattering, he didn't knew what was.

Harry quickly jumped on his own broom and kicked himself straight in the sky, laughing like a child. Draco couldn't have kept the smile off his face, even if he had try. He had never saw Harry so happy and his happiness was catching. He flew after him but Harry suddenly stopped his broom and threw something at Draco, grinning like a fool. Draco caught it and examine it. It was a white ball, small and hard, about the size of a snitch, but obviously not magical. So Harry wanted to play? Draco's smile widened.

He threw the ball in another direction and Harry chased after it. He caught it easily and threw it toward the sea. Draco couldn't caught without getting his sleeves wet and Harry laughed. And Draco laughed.

They played until the sun set, and when it became too dark to see, they sat in the blue couch in the living room, warming themselves in front of the fire, in silence, until their breath deepened and the fire died.

In his sleep, Draco had let his head fell on Harry's shoulder. White blond strands of silky hair catching in deep black, unruly locks.

DMDMDMDMDMDMDMDMDM

Another lonely, cold morning, another shower, never warm enough, another day of classes, lessons, homework. Another day of meaningless task and obligations, of petty social interaction. And through it all, Draco could only think about speed and water, sunlight and laughter.

That night, just after dinner, Draco saw Potter heading outside, his broom on the shoulder. Alone. The absence of the redheaded bodyguard intrigued Draco. At least he tried to believe that was the reason he followed Potter outside.

Curiously instead of heading toward the Quidditch pitch, Harry went down to the lake. When he started to throw a small white ball around, Draco couldn't believe he wasn't dreaming. He walked closer to the shore, to a big rock where he could sit. But there was something on the rock. A broom. _His_ broom.

Draco didn't knew what to think. He should be angry that Potter had somehow manged to enter his room to stole his broom. But he wasn't. Draco was confused. He should have grab his broom, threw a couple of humiliating hexes at Potter before marching into the castle to laugh about it with Pansy.

But he didn't _wanted_ to.

No he wanted to grab his broom and fly. With Harry.

He didn't remembered making a decision about it, but Draco found himself a hundred feet over the lake flying at dizzying speed, racing against Potter to catch the ball. He caught it and thew it behind Harry who had to make a quite daring catch to get it.

The game wasn't exactly the same as it had been in the dream. There was less laughter and freedom, but somehow Draco thought, that given enough time, it could, maybe, become... enough.

And then it happened.

It wasn't his fault, really. He had always been competitive. It was _his_ turn to catch the ball, but then Potter had to go and try to steal it back. Draco tried to go under him, but in the dim light of the falling night, he miscalculated the distance between Harry and the lake, and so, after a spectacular stumble, he ended in the freezing water.

But just before hitting the water, in a desperate attempt to stay dry, he grasped at Harry's broom. It didn't stopped his fall, but it did cause Harry to hit the cold water about the same time as Draco.

Both boys came up, spluttering and shaking. They eventually managed to get back to the shore and walked back to the front door. Harry, Draco noticed about halfway there, was walking that tiny bit closer to him than was really necessary. Whether he minded or not, he tried his best not contemplating. Why he didn't step away, he also did a very good job of not thinking about. Shoulder to shoulder, they walked in silence. It wasn't a comfortable silence, but neither was it a particularly tense one.

When they got to the door, Harry was shivering. Draco didn't said anything, but he send a warming and a drying charm toward Harry. As far as apologies went, it was the most Draco could do for now.

Astoundingly, Harry seemed to understand and he smiled at Draco. It wasn't the brilliant smile from the dream. It was a shy, uncertain, still-somewhat-sad smile, but a smile nonetheless. Try as he might, this time, Draco couldn't pretend his heart wasn't beating faster when he saw it.

And when they went their separate way, they didn't part with words, neither of hate nor friendship, but there was a shared look that spoke of _more_. Of possibilities recently discovered and hesitations. Of hopes and a glimpse of something... else. Something beautiful and complex. Something scary. Something to hope for.

Something that neither dared name.

...

_Yes this time you get two chapters! Because I feel like being nice ._

_There are 12 chapters to this story and they are already written, so don't worry, you'll get them all :) _

_Thank you very much for reading this!_


	7. Chapter 7

_Lonesome. Lonesome. I know what it means. Here all by my lonesome, dreaming empty dreams. Weary. Weary at the close of day, wondering if tomorrow brings me joy or sorrow. - Leon Redbone_

When he woke up the next day, in his dormitory Draco's first thought went to Harry. He wondered where he was. It was the first night he hadn't dreamt of him and the little house and the sea. He was curiously sad of the absence of the dream. He hoped it would come back.

Then he wondered how the men could have gotten imbedded so far in his mind in a matter of days. Especially as they had so little interaction. And yet yesterday's little game over the lake had seemed meaningful. At least it was for him.

Harry, strangely enough, seemed willing to ..._interact _with him, for want of a better word.

The fact that they were both having the dreams was puzzling, but Draco didn't wanted to lose time over questions that probably didn't had an answer. Trying to found one would involve McGonagal and Granger. And when they would fail there would be Healers and researchers... No Draco didn't want answers. The only thing he wanted, if he was honest, was more of the dreams.

For some reason, it was easier to be with Harry in the dreams than in his waking hours. There, his feelings were somehow devoid of the constants anger, fear and frustration that seemed to be his constant companions since the end of the war.

But the fact remained that, with the dreams, he had discovered a world where those awful feeling were absent and the aimless game he had played with Harry the night before had shown him that maybe it could be possible to have that in his real life. It would demand a rather unorthodox lifestyle, but maybe he could live with that.

Maybe.

DMDMDMDMDMDMDMDMDM

Harry was sad and grumpy. Mainly grumpy. The dream hadn't come last night and he missed the blissful feeling it usually brought him. He was frustrated and also a little bit afraid that he had killed the dream with his game yesterday. He had taken the broom in Malfoy's room, on a whim, using his invisibility cloak. He didn't knew Malfoy would follow him, but he had hope he would.

He had enjoy the game until Malfoy made him plunge in the lake. But even after, it had been incredibly easy to forgive the git. Even if he never really ask for forgiveness.

Later that day, when he met Malfoy in the corridor near the potion classroom, he timidly smiled to him, unsure of the answer that would bring. And he received a polite head nod. It wasn't exactly an answer brimming with affection, but it was... encouraging. Maybe they could eventually learn to get along.

Maybe.


	8. Chapter 8

_Dream and give yourself permission to envision a _You_ that you choose to be. - Joy Page_

On a tiny island, in the middle of nowhere, two boys were kneeling in the earth, pulling weeds and trimming plants. They had awoken to a gloriously sunny day and Harry had announced his desire to go outside.

Draco would have been hard press to explain why he was now kneeling in the dirt, doing something no Malfoy had ever perform, except maybe under threat of death. But Harry had got dressed and walked determinedly to the garden and Draco had followed. Draco was uncomfortable, there was a stone under his knee and dirt under his nails. His back was burning under the unfamiliar strain. The wind was constantly pushing his hair over his eyes and by trying to keep them out of the way he repeatedly ran his hand in it; his fringe was now an pretty unattractive brown. Yet he didn't wanted to go inside.

The odour of freshly turned, wet earth mingled with the various aroma of herbs and flowers. Everything was brilliantly green and red and purple and the sun was making the little white flowers on the bush he was weeding looks like diamonds.

There was something soothing in working with one's hands. Despite his discomfort, Draco was feeling more relaxed by the minute. Working side by side with Harry brought him a feeling of closeness and peace, despite, or maybe because, their mutual silence. And the git was beautiful.

Draco discretely looked at Harry as he worked. The muscles of his back were rippling as he teared up weeds and remove rocks, his moves efficient and precise. He was no stranger to manual work. He had rolled up his sleeves, exposing forearms that were lean but defined. The sun made his hair gleam and the wind had mused it. There was a stroke of dirt on his cheek and his hands were caked with mud. That shouldn't have been attractive, but Draco couldn't stop looking at him.

Harry suddenly left his eyes and met Draco's gaze squarely. There was a knowing grin on his lips and a mischievous look in his eyes.

"You look pretty dashing too." Harry said with laughter in his voice. Draco's cheeks reddened but he didn't said anything. He smiled sheepishly and Harry chuckled.

When Harry announced that they were done, they went to the basin outside the house to wash their hands. Draco was contemplating his stained fingernails, when Harry startled him.

"You have something on your cheek."

And tenderly, he run his still-wet fingers on Draco's nose and cheek. It was so unexpected, that Draco forgot about his dirty fingernails. No one... No one had ever touch him like that. Not that he could remembered anyway. He hoped his mother had done it when he was a baby, but he couldn't remember.

Harry let his hand linger lightly, cupping his jaw, with tenderness and something that looked awfully like affection. Draco felt tensions he didn't knew existed, released in his neck and mind. He felt tears prickled in the corner of his eyes. He felt the need to turn away, to shelter his vulnerability and yet he didn't want to loose the unexpected comfort of the light caress.

When he felt a tear on his cheek, he lowered his head and it felt on Harry's hand. He looked startled, but against all Draco's expectations, and to Draco's relief, he didn't ask any question. He let his hand fall on Draco's shoulder and slowly, tenderly, cradled his head, gently tugging forward, until Draco's forehead rested on his shoulder.

Harry smelled dusty and sweaty and male. He was slowly massaging Draco's neck. And Draco cried. Big, fat, ugly sobs and tears, spit and snot. He cried until Harry's shirt was positively disgusting and then some. He cried for his solitude and his mother, his father and for things he couldn't event name. Sadness, disappointment and relief, fear and joy. And trough it all, Harry cradled his head and hold him, never looking disgusted or disappointed. He didn't tried to calm Draco with useless noise or ask questions Draco couldn't answer. He just held him, tirelessly, doing exactly all Draco had ever needed.

And later, after they had cleaned themselves and changed clothes, they sat on the sofa in front of the fire and Harry let his head fell on Draco's shoulder. Draco put his arm around Harry's shoulder and they looked at the fire long into the night, comforted in each other presence.

DMDMDMDMDMDMDMDMDM

When he woke up, Draco was feeling better than he had in week. Maybe years. Maybe ever. He felt lighter somehow and not exactly happy, but more calm. When he thought about how he had cried on Potter's shoulder, he wanted to crawl under his bed. By now he knew enough not to doubt that the "real" Potter would remember the dream, but he couldn't bring himself to regret.

Later, when he came across Potter in the corridor, between charms and potions, he flashed him a small smile. Potter answered with a smile so brilliant, Draco couldn't think about anything else. It made a part of him feel as if it was glowing, just in the middle of chest. He felt at the same time lighter and more grounded to Earth.

Laying in bed that night, Draco wondered if living with Harry would be like that all the time? Probably not, but if it was as brilliant some of the time, maybe it would be worth the trouble.

_Probably._


	9. Chapter 9

_Dreams come to tell us something about our lives that we are missing." ― James Redfield,_

This time Draco woke up late, it was near midday, by the sun. By the time he was dressed, Harry was in the kitchen preparing lunch. He was wearing a pale green button-down shirt and grey trousers. He was barefooted and his, still somewhat damp, hair was sticking in every direction. It was vulgar and everything about it went against Draco's upbringing. It shouldn't have been endearing.

Harry was singing under his breath. It wasn't that it was disagreeable so much that it was unusual to Draco's ears. Obviously it was some stupid muggle song. Draco wanted to hear more.

Harry was mixing _things_ with a certain dexterity that made Draco wonder how he could be so bad at potion. It was a mysterious process for Draco, how one could turn various ingredient into a meal. House elves had always done it for him, but he found that he was curious about what Harry was doing.

Sitting at a stool, at the kitchen counter, Draco watched Harry chopped carrots and parsnip, toast bread and season the soup. Harry was chatting about something Weasley's mother had once done, but Draco didn't mind listening to weird stories while he watched Harry effortlessly making lunch.

As Draco was dressing the table, still vaguely listening to Harry endless chatter, he realized that somehow even listening about the demented Weasley's twins adventure wasn't so bad. He couldn't figure out why Harry seemed surprised by his table set up tough. He didn't placed the salad forks at the wrong place, did he? Or maybe the water glasses went on the right of the plate?

As they sat at the small kitchen table, eating vegetable soup and bread, Draco couldn't help thinking about how nice it was to be part of something. Even if his contribution had been minimal, he could help feeling he had helped with the lunch. And it was a surprisingly nice thought.

When Harry finished his meal and put his hand on the table, _what bad manners_, Draco felt an irresistible desire to touch his hand. And why wouldn't he ? He was a Malfoy he could do whatever he wanted. And there was no reason for his hand to be shaking like that as he put his trembling hand on Harry's hand.

When the other man gripped his hand and flashed him a brilliant smile. He suddenly knew why he wanted to touch his hand. And it didn't matter that he was shaking, because Harry seemed to be shaking as badly. He entwinedhis fingers with Harry's, and couldn't help but smile back. And why wouldn't he? He was a Malfoy, he could do whatever he wanted.

Even smiling back at Harry Potter while holding his hand, in a dream-house by the sea.

HPDMHPDMHPDMHPDM

To say that Harry was surprised when he received a note from Malfoy at the dinner table, would be an understatement. He didn't expected Malfoy to contact him. Not ever, but especially not now. The boundaries of their relationship were still so blurred.

There was a single sentence written in an elegant script on the slip of parchment.

_Will you walk with me? - DM_

Luckily Ron and Hermione were too engrossed in each other to notice the owl. He mumbled an excuse that nobody paid attention to and went outside. He waited quite a while in the cold autumn twilight and when Draco finally arrived, Harry was bitterly regretting not to have taken the time to go up and get a warmer sweater and gloves.

Malfoy had bundled up against the cold. He took one look at Harry and produced black gloves, a green scarf and a dark grey cloak. Apparently Malfoy had an idea to dress him in Slytherin colors but Harry was too grateful for the warm clothes to complain about the colors. Or to ask why Malfoy carried extra clothes with him.

He put the cloak on Harry's shoulder and slowly wrapped the scarf around his neck. There was something submissive and intimate in letting someone else dress you and Harry blushed under the attention, but he was forced to admit than he liked it. Draco smoothed the material of the cloak over Harry's shoulders in something that was awfully close to a caress and Harry blushed harder. If he let himself, he could nearly had describe Draco's gesture as "tender". But Harry didn't let himself think that. Not really.

Draco handed him the gloves and minutely replaced the scarf around Harry's neck.

"The color suit you. With eyes like that, you should have been in Slytherin."

There was something unsure under Draco's usual tone. As if he was afraid that the compliment would not be well received.

_I nearly was. _Harry thought to say, but it would bring too much anger back to speak about that day, for now. The day he had rejected Draco's friendship. He still tough Draco had been an ass that day, but now he realized that he had not been better. He had accepted Draco at face value without bothering to find if there was something worthwhile under the haughtiness and the hardness. One day he would tell Draco of the hat's decision and he would laugh at his reaction, but not now. Instead he smiled and bowed his head.

They walked around the lake. The cold was biting, but Draco was walking so near that Harry could feel his heat seep through his clothes. And the cloak was smelling woody and spicy and sweet, a mix so uniquely Draco, it defied description. The smell and the light touches made something swell and heat in Harry's chest.

Despite the wind, the cold and the falling light he wasn't in a hurry to get back inside at all.


	10. Chapter 10

**Better than dreams – Part 10**

_There are so many fragile things, after all. People break so easily, and so do dreams and hearts._

_- Neil Gaiman, Fragile Things _

It was raining this time. Not a quiet, discrete rain. No it was a storm, complete with thunder and howling winds. The rain hit the windows with force and Draco could see huge waves hitting the shore just a few feet from the window. He had let the drapes opened because he like the contrast the wild weather offered to the quiet coziness in the living room.

He was sitting in the blue couch , his feet getting toasted by the flames in the fireplace, with a book in his hand and a cup of tea getting cold by his elbow.

Harry came from the kitchen, carrying two fresh cups of tea and followed by the smells of freshly baked bread and beef stew. He magically send the cold tea to the kitchen, replace it with the warm cup and sat down next to Draco. Harry sat a great deal closer than necessary, but Draco found he didn't mind.

Except that Harry began to read over his shoulder.

Ever since Draco had been little, he had hated when people, both those he knew and those he didn't, insisted on reading over his shoulder. Harry was reading over his shoulder. Irritation gnawed in his stomach, and his knuckles grew white.

But Harry was also almost resting his head on Draco's shoulder, nestled in close and near. He was warm and seemed to fit exactly right against Draco. He could smell the citrus form his shampoo and something else, woodsy and distinctly masculine. Draco's stomach was doing a whole different kind of gnawing because of that. It took only a few sips of the tea in his hand before Harry's head was resting on Draco's shoulder for real.

It had a really strange effects on Draco's stomach.

He reached the end of a particular long chapter about various muggle myths and legends. He risked a glance toward Harry and was startled to discovered that the other boy was no longer looking at the book. No, he was looking at Draco, his eyes, too green and obscured by a few strands of his wild hair, intense and dark and disturbingly close. And yet Draco found that he didn't want to move away.

"Are you hungry" Harry whispered, his lips so close from Draco's, he could feel the breath of the other man on his mouth. Draco was indeed suddenly very hungry, but not for stew or bread. He found himself fixing Harry's lips and his mouth watered. He swallowed.

"Yes." he said he said in a broken whisper.

His voice had no business creaking like that. His hands shouldn't be shaking, either. He should get up or push Potter away. But lately, everything he _should_ be doing he didn't _wanted_ to do. No what he wanted was to put his hand in Harry's hair, bring him closer and... something.

"Good." Harry said softly. And Draco couldn't make sense out of the word. He decided he didn't care. He wanted to stay here, close to Potter, and if the other man wanted to utter random words, Draco would graciously let it pass.

But then Harry started to draw back and get up.

He didn't remember making a conscious decision about it, but his left hand caught the wrist of the of the other man and pulled him back against him. His skin was warm and just a little bit rough under Draco's fingers. Harry felt back on the couch, and in Draco's side, with a startled look. He was about to talk, to ask questions Draco couldn't answered. And so he silenced him.

He leaned forward and kissed him.

The kiss was delicate, hesitant even, Harry's lips were soft and wet, warm and firm. His traitorous hands gently sled up Harry's back, of their own accord, tangling in his hair. It was soft and thick and messy, Draco's fingers were catching in knots and tangles.

It was absolutely perfect.

Even thought he seemed quite surprised at first, Harry soon responded to the kiss with the same intensity he seemed to put in everything he did. Draco found himself the startled one when Harry suddenly straddled him and deepened the kiss. His lips parted fully this time and Draco tasted him, completely and deeply, and he discovered what he had been hungry for. Normally he would have been ashamed of the needy whimper that escape from his throat, but he was too lost in the new sensations Harry was extracting from his body to bother.

Harry tangled his hand in Draco's hair who couldn't help but moaned. He loved having his hair touched. Harry shivered at the noise and trust his hips minutely, but it was enough to have Draco gaped in shock. It was suddenly too much. He pushed Harry of his laps and he ended up on the floor, all wide-eyes and ruffled hair.

"A simple 'No' would have suffice, you know." he grumbled as he got up. He was tensed as he walked toward the kitchen. As if he was offended. Or hurt.

Guilt and pride battled in his mind. Draco had never said those words willingly. Never thought he would want to. But he wanted to now.

"Wait" Draco said softly.

Harry stopped but didn't turn his head, his back straight.

"I'm sorry."

His words were soft, with a little edge of breathlessness. When Harry slowly turned to face Draco, there was a small smile on his lips and a soft look in his eyes. As if he knew how much those three words had cost him.

"It's alright." He made a few more steps toward the kitchen, but stop at the door and turned to smile at Draco.

"Come the dinner is ready."

And they dinned, fresh homemade bread, salad and stew. Sitting at the small table with their knees brushing not-so-accidentally under the table. And when Harry hesitantly took his hand, Draco squeezed it a little bit harder. They knew then, that maybe it wouldn't always be easy, but somehow they could make it work.

And maybe, it was better by not being easy.

DHDHDHDHDHDHDHDH

The next morning there was this article in the Daily Prophet and everything spiralled out of control. Even thinking about it now, Harry couldn't recall the details not the order in which the events exploded. One second he was eating toasts, trying not to look at Hermione feeding bits of fruit to Ron, because really, it was nauseating and then the next second Draco was yelling at Harry, then storming out of the Great Hall.

And then it was all yelling and curses. Hermione was yelling at Draco, then at Harry. Ron was running after Draco with his wand out. The Professors were shouting at everyone to calm down. Ginny was screaming and Neville was crying. And there was noise and anger, so much anger. It was like.. the war; red and hot and angry an so noisy. There was too much pain and anger and was this _blood_ ? There was suddenly too much noise and too little air, everything became black and red...

And so, like a dignified Victorian heroine, Harry lost consciousness.

DHDHDHDHDHDHDHDH

It was dark outside when he opened his eyes in the infirmary. Mme Pomphey was nowhere to be seen, so he was probably not in danger of dying anytime soon. It wasn't completely dark, but the sun had set. The curtains of the bed beside him twitched and Draco's head appeared. He looked extremely contrite and his eyebrows were singed.

"Hi" he said timidly.

Harry didn't said anything. He wasn't sure what was appropriate. He wasn't sure he wanted to speak to Draco right now either.

"I'm sorry." Draco said. He looked so sad and distressed... Harry uncrossed his arms and sighed.

"I think it'll be alright. In time." There was a long silence. "Do you care to tell me what happened?"

"You don't know?" Harry shook his head slowly, because he was always dizzy after he fainted. He had a vast experience in fainting.

"After the last dream. The one where I'm reading a book, you remember it?"

"Yes" Harry said softly, and he couldn't help but smiled at the memory. And blushed a little also.

"After that dream, I woke up early. Early enough that I had time to think. I realized that I was... interested in having a life like the one we have in those dreams." Draco was looking at his hand as he spoke, but he suddenly lifted his head, his eyes burning in intensity. "Very much so."

Harry's breath hitched and he felt his heartbeat quicken. Draco wanted it? He wanted him?

"And I decided I would go and buy some island. Somewhere we could build a house. I wanted it to be a surprise for you. A kind of courting gift. You know that wizards give a gift to the person they intended to court?"

Harry shook his head, slowly. He was still speechless: Draco wanted to live with him! To court him?

"Well now, you know. Not that it serve much purpose..." Draco sighed and put his head in his hand. Harry frowned.

"When I sat down at the breakfast table, Pansy was looking at me with a look so strange... Now I think it was pity, but at the time I was so happy, I didn't pay her much attention. I grabbed the Daily Prophet from Theo... I do it every morning. It's a kind of joke between us. You see, his grand mother pays him a subscription but he don't really want to read it, so instead of paying for mine I always just took his copy. He always act as if he's offended, but it's a game, you see..."

Draco stopped talking. Harry didn't said anything. Draco glanced at him. "You didn't read today's copy did you?"

" I never read it." His voiced sounded rusty and strangled.

Draco looked as if he was about to cry as he continued.

"It was there. On the front page! I forgot the titled, something about how the death eater were finally punished adequately... They took it all! The manor, the gold, everything... I don't have anything. Nothing..."

He lifted his head and Harry could see that he was crying. There where tears on his cheeks and with his hair mused, his singed eyebrows, he looked so unlike himself, Harry was heart broken. What had they done to the Draco he knew? Not the pompous ass he used to be, but even in the dreams, Draco was assured and proud.

"I can't buy you an island... I can't even buy a pen. Nothing! They left me nothing! I was so angry. I don't know what went through my head. You where smiling and somehow I was back, before the war and I was persuaded you where laughing at me . I stood up and yelled that it was all you fault. When you looked at me, so surprised, it all came back back to me and I ran. Your crazed friends found me, hence the eyebrows..."

He was sobbing now and Harry got up, slowly - because it wouldn't do any good to get up too fast, get dizzy and vomit on Draco's feet - and sat beside Draco. He put his arm on Draco's shoulders, but Draco shrugged him off angrily.

"Don't touch me! I'm a filthy death eater, you can't want me. I only deserve to be alone and poor."

"You can't tell me what I want Draco. And I'll tell you what I want; I want you. When I look at you I don't see a death eater, let alone a filthy one. I see a men, a beautiful men, that can be proud and strong and yet that trusted me enough to cried in my arms once. And I want you so much, it hurt sometime. When you told me you wanted the house... and me, I thought my heart would exploded. I don't care that you have nothing, I have more than enough for two"

"I don't want your charity!"

"And it would have been charity for you to buy me an island?"

"It's not the same..."

"Yes it's the same thing. You had money and wanted to spend it in a way that would make me happy. Well, I want to make you happy."

Draco started to argue

"Draco, all my life, I had nothing. No family, no toys, no affection, barely enough food... and you know what I missed the most? Love. It was the only thing I've craved all my life and it was the only thing people constantly refused me. I got affection from Hermione and Ms. Weasley, infatuation from Ginny, a shaky friendship with Ron, but love.. Only you gave it to me, freely. I don't know why, I don't know how it's even possible, but I know I want it. If I have to give away all the content of my vault to win you back I'll do it this very minute. I don't care about money, but I care about you. I know it must be hard for you, having nothing after you had everything, but I'll help you."

There was a long tense silence.

"The dreams. The little house by the the sea... Do you think, it could be possible?" he asked in a broken whisper.

Harry laughed softly. Draco tensed at the sound but said nothing.

"I found a small island off the coast a few days ago. It's not exactly identical to the one from the dream but it's close enough. It's rockier but a bit bigger. Surely we could modify it a bit, sow grass or something. I... I bought it. I wasn't certain you would want to come and live with me, but I wanted the house anyway. I thought we could build the house ourselves. Or at least supervise it. It could be something we do together."

There was another long silence. Draco fumbled in the dark until he found Harry's hand. He slowly took it in his own, still afraid of rejection but hopeful.

"Could we go see it tomorrow?" Draco asked softly.

Harry's smile could nearly be heard in the darkness of the room, the sun had set long ago.

"Yeah that would be great."

When he finally fell asleep, he was laying in the dark, in a infirmary bed, with Draco sitting beside him. They were holding hands and Harry was happy. Really happy, for the first time he could remember.


	11. Chapter 11

_There are those who look at things the way they are, and ask why... I dream of things that never were, and ask why not? - Robert Kennedy_

When he awoke in the infirmary the next morning, Draco was gone and Harry hadn't dreamt about the house. He went up to the Griffindor common room. It was a sunny Saturday morning and so the place was almost empty. Hermione was reading by the window and Ron was nowhere to be seen.

"Oh Harry. I'm happy to see you. What happened yesterday?"

"There was too much noise and anger, I felt like it was to war all over again. It was too much." He shrugged. "We already knew I was sensitive to noises."

"It was Malfoy's fault! I mean -"

"He's a victim as much as any of us. Let him alone!" Harry snapped.

Hermione shoot him a strange look. Harry sat beside her and put his head in his hands. He sighed and straighten up.

"If I tell you something, will you listen to me with interrupting?"

And he told her everything the dreams and the house. The game by the lake and the gardening. The lunch and... Well, maybe he didn't told her _everything_. But he told her about the island he bought.

"I'm going to live there. I don't feel at my place here anymore. There's too much noise and movement. The war did... something to me. I don't know exactly how to describe it, but I want calm and silence."

Harry expected an explosion, but Hermione simply stared in the distance for a few seconds before looking at Harry.

"And what will you do? Alone on a tiny island. You'll go mad if you have nothing to do."

"I'll find something. I'd like to build things. Jewels or wands. Or maybe furniture. I've destroyed so many things...Or maybe I'll work with animals. I'm not sure. I'll figure something out, I 'll find someone who'll teach me. I don't have to be an hermit all the time, Hermione."

"The Auror program would take you even without your NEWTs. You could chase dark wizard and-"

"No Hermione. I don't want to chase anyone anymore. I wants something else, something at once lighter and more substantial. I don't know what that is, yet. But I'll find it."

"And you think you'll find it there? Alone? Or with _Malfoy_?"

"No. I _know_ I'll find it there. With _Draco_. I know you don't understand, but it's only because I didn't let you know anything about it before today. At first, our ... relation was too fragile, too weak. It would have crumble away under any exterior pressure. Now we're more stable, more sure. We've accepted each other, but we still need space and calm, and peace. We'll find it there."

"And if it doesn't work out? If you still 'crumble away'?"

"There's risk in everything, Hermione. If a month, or ten years, from now, we both find that we are no longer happy together, we'll go our separate way. And I would still get the memories of that happiness. Which is so much more than I had a few month back. Now I know what happiness taste like, what it feel like. And, more importantly, I know that I _can_ be happy and loved. And love back."

Hermione looked at him with teary eyes. "But Ginny..."

Harry risked a glance toward the other end of the common room, where Neville was happily kissing a girl with vivid red hair.

"Somehow, I think she'll be alright."

Hermione sighed and mumbled something about Ron's hopes. She went back her book, encouragingly titled _Madness : Natural and artificial causes and how to treat them, _periodically glancing suspiciously at Harry over it. Not that Harry cared much if he was crazy of not. After a while Hermione huffed and slapped her book close.

"You know that Ron will faint when he hears about it."

"Make sure he has a pillow under his head," Harry said absently. " I have to go meet Draco. I'll see you later."

HDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHDHD

They met in Hogsmead, feeling awkward and uncertain. There were few words exchanged, only tensed greeting. Since only Harry knew the location, he had to Apparate Draco. There was hesitation in his movements. He made to grab Draco's hand, but in the daylight, in public, it seemed too intimate. He grabbed Draco's shoulder instead. A formal position, one Draco's father would have used with his associates.

Draco tried not to be hurt.

They found themselves on a small, rocky island. There were bushes all around, twisted by the wind, some evergreen, some bright with the leaves of a new season. Everything seemed wild but peaceful. There was a rundown shack in the middle of the island, so crooked that neither boy felt any desire to enter it. Hidden to one side was a unsteady little bench.

They sat together - a little gingerly as the bench was listing to one side in quite an alarming fashion - and contemplated the space around them.

"I like it," announced Draco.

Harry didn't respond, but some tension left his shoulders. He had been nervous about his reaction, then. But Draco didn't see the shack or the wild vegetation. He saw a small garden in place of that patch of thorny bushes and a gravel path that lead to it. He saw a small, two story, brick house with vines climbing on the east wall. And a terrace with two chair and a small table. And a porch.

A home. _Their_ home.

Due to the angle of the seat, Draco soon found himself leaning into Harry. He could feel the warmth of the other man's body through their clothes. It was intoxicating. The close press of their legs, their hips, made him close his eyes. He sat, drinking in the feeling of closeness.

They had hugged and kissed in the dreams, but it was the first time they were this close in the real world. The world were there would be people to judge, to criticize. It was terrifying. But it was also exhilarating, because this was _real_. Harry really wanted him, he had bought this island for them. Here, there would be peace and calm and ... love?

He opened his eyes when he felt a shaky hand brush across his own. Harry was staring at his hand. Draco could feel Harry's body start to tremble.

Harry had opened a world of new vocabulary to Draco. Words Draco had never said. Not while truly meaning them anyway.

"Harry..." he whispered, "I..." He paused, his voice shaky. "Thank you" Draco finally whispered.

Harry brushed the back of Draco's hand with his thumb. He looked up, green eyes fierce in the grey light of the cloudy day. He brushed his thumb across the back of Draco's hand once more, then gripped it tightly, wrapping his fingers around Draco's. With his other hand he gently stroked the outline of Draco's jaw, fingers rasping across stubble.

The world went silent as they leaned in towards each other, and ever so gently, their lips met. Draco could feel Harry's breath, warm on his face. Tentatively, they began to kiss. Draco was surprised by the soft firmness of Harry's lips, the hot warmth of his mouth. It was so much better than in the dreams. He was lost and it was, without doubt, the best kiss of his life.

They pulled back, with mirrored expressions of wonder, surprise and hope in their smiles.

"I've wanted to do that for so long," groaned Harry gently. Draco didn't answer, instead wrapping his hand behind Harry's head and kissing him again. This time the kiss heated up quickly, mouths opening to each other, tongues exploring. Their hands roamed too, through hair and up and down backs.

Harry and Draco were panting by the time they pulled back from their second kiss. Draco was the most aroused that he had been in a long time. Maybe ever.

"Maybe, we should go back? Before..." said Harry. His voice was breathless and shaky. Draco didn't needed to hear the rest of the sentence to understand.

_Before we do something neither of us are ready for._

_Before we broke something that could never be repaired. _

It was too soon. They were too fragile for anything more for now, but there was a future where _more_ was possible. That kiss had show them a glimpse of what could be. What _would_ be. One day.

It was exhilarating. Electrifying. Breathtaking.

They Apparated back to Hogmeade. And this time they held hands.


	12. Chapter 12

"_Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true, here is the place where I love you." _

_- Suzanne Collins_

It had taken more time than he had thought to build the house. It was the beginning of June, and Draco's birthday, before it was done. It was not exactly as it had been in the dream, but the house was finished and there was a small bedroom and a large bathroom on the second floor, a kitchen and a living room on the first floor, a potion lab in the cellar. It was calm and peaceful and protected.

It was a home; _their _home.

It was also Draco's birthday and even if there was nobody to remember it, it was still a special day for him. But after dinner Harry handed him a small box, wrapped in gold and silver paper, and it was so unexpected, Draco froze.

Harry waited patiently for a few moment, but after a while his smile became strained.

"Don't you.. don't you want it?" He asked softly.

"How did you knew?" Draco answered. Harry looked surprised by the question.

"You always received such beautiful gifts on that day, how could I have not noticed?"

"You noticed everyone's birthday?" There was a long silence as harry pondered the question.

"No. For some reason you were always special to me." It was such an unexpected revelation, Draco couldn't find anything to say, he opened the gift instead.

It was a silly thing, a silver, dragon-shaped necktie clip, with a miniscule emerald for the eye. He didn't intend to wear a lot of neckties in the future, but he loved the thing. He wanted to say thank you, to explain how much it meant to him that Harry had thought about him on his birthday. How much it touched him, that even before the dreams, Harry had care enough to notice his birthday.

But there was no words. So he kissed Harry; a long, hard, wet kiss, in which he was trying to convey his joy, his surprise and his ...affection. When he stopped, he was stranding Harry's laps. Harry's eyes were wide and his breathing, fast.

His voice was but a trembling whisper. "I want to take you to bed now. Are you... are you ready?" Draco had never been more ready for anything in his life.

They climbed the stairs with trembling knees and heavy breaths. The windows were opened, Harry went to closed them, Draco stopped him. He wanted to feel free and he wanted to show himself, and Harry, to the world. Even if there were only sea birds around. Especially if there were only sea birds. It was completely irrational Draco couldn't have explain it, but Harry didn't asked and so he didn't had to. Maybe Harry understood.

Draco was standing in the middle of the room, feeling stupid and self-conscious. He really wanted to do _it_, but, somehow, he didn't knew how to begin. It had seemed so simple when he was kissing Harry in the kitchen...

Suddenly Harry was standing in front of Draco, he lightly kissed him and removed Draco sweater and shirt by pulling them both over his head. It let his hair mused and crackling with static. He scowled and Harry laughed. Harry remove his shirt, in about the same way, but it didn't change his hair style much.

They were standing face to face. Harry was a bit shorter than Draco and so Draco had to bend his head just so, to kiss him. But, as he lightly caressed Harry's chest, he couldn't help but notice how much broader than his were Harry's chest and shoulders. Harry shivered at the light caress and closed his eyes. He lifted his hands and put them on Draco's hips. Harry slowly caressed Draco's back and behind, until he was cupping his butt.

"Will you let me...?"

"Yes." Draco said softly, shakily. He wanted it. He wanted Harry to do it, but it was new and it was frightening. His uncertainty must have somehow showed on his face, because Harry asked him : "You have done this before, haven't you?"

Draco bristled. "I was in the middle of a war. Potter. And then I was here. There wasn't much opportunities." Draco tried to get out of the embrace, to hide his shame, but Harry tighten his hold and kissed, no devoured, his neck and ear.

"Mine, all mine." He murmured.

Draco had nearly forgot how intense Harry could be, how special it could make someone feel to have all this intensity directed to them. It was this intensity Draco was craving when he was harassing Harry in school. He would have died before admitting it then, even to himself, but here, in the house by the sea, he could at least admit it to himself. Maybe some day he would admit it to Harry.

Harry guided him to the bed, he climbed on top of Draco and ... Draco was too overwhelmed to remember anything after that. There was undressing of course, but Draco couldn't, for the life of him, remember who remove his own clothes, let alone Harry's clothes. There was stroking and fumbling, touching and stretching and kissing and more stretching. Draco forgot who did what and when. Except for the stretching. Harry definitely did the stretching. It was new and it was strange and Draco never wanted it to stop.

Eventually, it could have an hour or a minute later, there was a pause, a timeless moment, as Harry looked at him as if he was beautiful. Desirable. Worthy. Kneeling between Draco legs, he kissed him. Then there was pressure and Harry was breaching him. He slid in slowly, continually studying Draco's face, deeper, deeper, until Draco felt as if he were being hollowed out from the inside. Harry paused at last, panting.

Draco gazed up at him, enthralled. Harry's sweaty hair clung to his cheeks. His eyes were wide and that close, Draco could see that his eyes were green, yes, but there was a touch of blue around the edge. Harry took a deep breath and _moved. _And the intensity came back.

It was tender, it was awkward and Draco couldn't decide what hurt most, the way Harry stretched him or the tenderness in Harry's eyes, in Harry's touches. But it hurt in such a beautiful way, a stretching pain, filling up the gaping hole his heart, his life and himself.

He wasn't healed yet, the pain would fade, the touches would cease the emptiness would come back, but it would lessen. And maybe, because Harry seemed intent on continuing this weird relationship with a broken man, maybe there would be more touches and more tenderness and maybe even more of that delicious stretching down there, and maybe eventually the emptiness would fade completely.

Later, spent, they laid cuddled under the soft blankets, with the windows opened, letting in the smell of the ocean and the cries of the sea bird. Draco felt languid, like after a very good meal. He felt full of love, tenderness and _Harry_. He felt more at home than he ever had, just laying beside him, listening to birds and his heart beating and the wind in the sea.

They slept, together, Draco's head on Harry's chest, in a little house by the sea, where there was a lot of silence and love. And it was not a dream.

_I see Harry and Draco as two men who would crave peace and calm, after everything they went through. But maybe it's only because I love silence so much myself._

_I sincerely hope you enjoyed reading it. _


End file.
